THE  SPANISH  WAR
itself from that immense heap of rubble and of stones.
And so we watched, straining our eyes to catch a sight of
the red and gold flag which would tell us that Colonel
Moscardo, its gallant defender, and his garrison were still
holding out, but there was nothing we could see.   Sud-
denly, in front of the Alcazar there rose an immense
column of smoke and dust which went up like a huge
plume for some hundreds of feet in the air and then
slowly, ever so slowly, spread out so that it looked like a
gigantic inverted pyramid of fuliginous smoke.   A great
boom resounded, and we knew that yet another mine had
been exploded.   That meant that the Alcazar until then
was still resisting    But what damage had the mine done?
Was it not, perhaps, the last blow, which would have
shatteied the walls of the cellars in which the gallant
garrison had taken refuge, and would have forced a breach
through which the Red hordes might find a way to wreak
their bloody purpose?
Sadly we turned away and in gloomy reflection began
to make our way back. It needed an incident when we
reached the six-inch batteries beside the sunken road to
relieve us of our pessimistic impressions. We were moving
along, a little column of journalists, when suddenly the
battery opened fire, directly over our heads. Most of us
ducked instinctively—even those accustomed to artillery
fire cannot always refrain from so doing—but behind us
we saw a half a dozen visitors to the front who had done
more and who had thrown themselves flat on their faces
in the mud. We did not laugh at the moment, so as
not to offend them, but having assured them there was
no danger, hastened away round a corner to enjoy
the humour of the situation, leaving them to brush the
abundant mud from their clothes.
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